Gone
by Bored and Unoriginal
Summary: Random thoughts from a boy at work, retribution and the events that followed shortly afterwards.
1. Chapter 1

Gone; to be no longer present. Adjective. One syllable. Two consonants and two vowels. Essentially one of the more simple words to use, said in less than a second yet still managing to be completely open to interpretation depending on the context in which it is used. Sometimes people use it as a euphemism for death, trying and failing to soften the event for the eyes of others, concealing the truth in a gossamer lie that appears much more appropriate for public consumption.

Really, dead is dead, and anything used to hide that truth if for pussies, thought Micky, snorting out loud at how suddenly his thoughts had become all deep. He was glad that no one could see inside his head. He shook off the thoughts plaguing him and continued stacking cans on the far shelf of Kash and Grab, losing himself in the monotonous task. Suddenly he heard the sound of the door violently opening, letting in a sharp blast of cold air, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It closed with an even more violent crash, and he heard the sounds of wet shoes slapping on the linoleum floor heading towards his aisle.

Not wanting to look skittish by whipping around to see who was approaching him, he deliberately glanced lazily into the grubby convex mirror in the corner. Seeing it was only the small frame of his little sister, he swung around, carefully adjusting his stance to make himself seem strong against the waves of fury he could already feel rolling from her. She stopped with her face inches from his, eyes hardened and merciless, glaring at him fearlessly as she shoved him in the chest. Despite his stance he was sent crashing into the shelf behind him, causing its contents to rattle as he regained his balance.

"What the fu-," Mickey began to yell, completely oblivious to what offence he was thought to have caused this time.

"Where is he"? Mandy cut him off, her tone menacing as she filled the short space between them once again, leaving him no escape route.

He immediately knew who she was talking about, but really, it was easier to play dumb so as not to risk seeming like he cared. He was good at that. "Who"?

"You fucking know who," she screeched, "Tall, red hair, guy you've been fucking for the past few years."

He flinched, but quickly recovered, hoping she hadn't noticed.

"Gone", he replied with as little emotion as possible. Any observer would think that he couldn't care less. That the person they were talking about wasn't haunting him and occupying his every second thought. Mandy, however, knew better.

"I'd gathered that, dickhead". She rolled her eyes, making her look a little less threatening, though she made no move to back off. "Gone where"?

"The army". His stance shifted from one defensive to resigned, leaning away from Mandy's palm now placed threateningly on his chest. Her arm dropped to her side, and Mickey relaxed. He took in her bedraggled appearance. The soaked black converses, and skinny jeans, also wet presumably from the rain. The hoodie thrown over the top and tangled hair that trailed around her shoulders.

Her eyes met his with an expression somewhere between hatred and confusion, with a slight fleck of something that almost resembled pity. He was caught by surprise when her hand whipped across his face, causing is to briefly snap sideways.

"What was that for"?

"Figure it out, dumbass", she snapped, before turning on her heel and exiting the building as quickly as she had entered. Mandy was the only one who could get away with something like that because she knew he would never hurt her despite damage and destruction being one of his fortes.

He raised his hand to his now reddened cheek, absentmindedly rubbing it as he replayed the exchange in his head, searching for any clues he may have missed. He turned back to the task at hand, attempting to erase all thoughts of Ian and Mandy from his mind, longing for his shift to be over so he could go home and drink himself into a coma, enjoying his sham of a marriage and constant abuse from his father.

Angered, he kicked the crate he was stacking cans from, before sliding down the shelf to the floor. He crouched with his head between his knees; attempting to regulate his uneven breathing. His head felt like it was going to explode; thoughts reaching a cacophonous volume; thoughts angrier and more numerous than a swarm of bees. Guilt, shame and other emotions formed an untamed beast in the pit of his stomach, attempting to claw its way out, paying no heed to its own brutality and the pain it caused its host. His fists curled and clawed at his scalp, knuckles turning white as he struggled to regain control.


	2. Chapter 2

His breathing quickened as he ran down the street, the sound of his feet on the pavement making echoes as he passed through the night unnoticed. The eerie silence was pierced by his laboured breathing; his heartbeat becoming erratic and loud in his ears; his legs beginning to feel as though they were made of lead. The cold night air whipped at his clothes, his eyes watering at its bite making it even harder to see in the gloomy blackness only broken by the occasional street light. He glanced back behind him, saw no one but continued at the rapid pace, a look of sheer horror painting his face.

He was shocked when he found himself colliding with something warm and solid sending him sprawling on the concrete. The base of his skull connected with the icy ground, causing his vision to briefly fill with stars before he was able to look up and see what he had hit. What he saw caused him to forget the pain shooting through his skull, and mind to go blank.

It was Ian, as he had last seen him. His hair the same vibrant red, rippling in the wind that had now died down a little. He towered over him somewhat threateningly despite his weak and resigned stance. His face was twisted and distorted into a mask of pain, unnatural on his usually pleasant face. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but closed it again, tipping his face towards the sky, observing the starless night. A minute passed and they both remained silent. Mickey wanted to say something, anything, but his throat closed and tongue swollen, unable to utter a word.

Finally Ian turned his gaze from the sky, down to Mickey his eyes fluttering closed, but expression remaining as pained as before. Finally he opened his mouth only to utter a single word.

"Why"?

This word carried more power than should be given to any, crippling Mickey, who was still unable to respond. Suddenly the darkness seemed to expand and then contract, devouring Ian and moving in on Mickey; unravelling his very existence and leaving nothing behind except the word.

_Why?_

Mickey sat bolt upright to find himself lying on the couch in his house. His breathing was rapid and uneven and his body drenched in cold sweat. Seeing that he was and no longer trapped in a nightmare world he lay back down, his body slumped on the couch as he attempted to calm his breaths. He took comfort in the familiar mildew scent of the room and its floor littered with various empty liquor bottles assuring him of its reality.

Knowing he would be unable to find sleep again he sat back up, rubbing the heels of his hands across his eyes, unable to fathom how sleep could leave him feeling so drained and more tired than when he had lay down. He swung his legs off the couch and stood up, stripping of his sweat drenched shirt. He carefully navigated his way through the room, attempting to cause as little noise as possible while searching for a shirt that was slightly less rank than the one in his hand. Finding one, he tossed it over his head and made his way quickly towards the door, shutting it quietly so as not to wake his father, presumably sleeping somewhere in the house.

It was still raining from the night before, but Mickey took no heed to it as he jogged towards the baseball pitch. By the time he got there he was soaked, this time with refreshing rainwater. He found himself sitting on the benches, water dripping from his hair into his eyes.

He cursed his restless subconscious and its masochistic nature, determined to cause him as much pain as possible. It was easy enough to live when he was able to simply drift into blackness as an escape from thoughts, but recently they had begun to follow him into dreams as well, giving him no rest from his conflicting memories. Not only did the dreams haunt him, but lately they had begun to have a greater ability to replicate reality. Dream Ian's expression had been a mirror image of the one he had worn on _that day. _

_That day _was not one he liked to remember, like all towards the end. Since he had left, all memories had become the _last time this_ or the _last time that_. Memories that had used to be _that time he dared to fucking kiss me _to _the last time we would ever kiss. _

It certainly put a dampener on all memories, and it was much easier to simply ignore them, which worked a majority of the time. However, the thoughts came prowling in the night, a relentless angry beast determined to devour him whole, before spitting him back out, a mere shell of his former self.

_Fuck that,_ thought Mickey. He pulled a crumpled pack of smokes out of the back pocket of his sweats and lit up, sucking in a deep breath. He released the smoke into the night air, where it quickly diffused into the blackness, leaving no trace.

He stayed there for another hour, simply smoking and watching the rain cascade over the blocked gutter of the shelter and splash to the ground. Eventually the horizon became tinged with the colour of the dawn to come, the world throwing off its shroud of starless black.

Mickey too shook off the darkness, gathering himself. _I can't be this weak_, he though, _I can't continue like this._ Silently he resolved to no longer be haunted by these ghosts. They may attack him at night, but he would not bow to their will, allowing himself to fall prey to them. He would build a better façade, no longer dwelling, and life his life anew, free of the memories. Free of all holding him down, and most importantly, free of Ian Gallagher.


	3. Chapter 3

Although he never went for all that 'new me, positive thinking' bullshit, it seemed like the favorable option given his current situation. Although he had absolutely no moral issues with his alcohol consumption or emotional detachment and dysfunctional state, he could no longer bear the thought of becoming a mirror image of his father, forever stuck in the life not meant for him. The first thing he needed to do was get his 'wife' out of his life. So far as he saw it he had no moral obligation to keep being with her, hell, he would even pay child support, so long as he didn't have to see her face each day, a constant reminder of the life he had lost. His father probably wouldn't care as long as he kept up his completely hetero appearance, and even if he didn't, there was little more he could do that hadn't already been done. Mickey had nothing left to lose that hadn't already been ripped from him.

He laughed out loud at the absurdity and pure optimism that filled his thoughts, unlike any he had ever experienced. It was kind of gross, and foreign to him. It had only been a few weeks since he had reached his ultimate low when this had all began. Turns out, marrying his impregnated rapist, being abused by his father and having Ian leave didn't exactly fill him with warm fuzzy feelings. Then again, very little did, snorted Mickey, bemused by the obscure thoughts filling his mind. It was a refreshing relief from the black cloud that had been hovering above his head, obscuring clear thought and depressing his already negative mood.

Sighing deeply, he felt a sense of relief, as though the theoretical planning had already lifted a burden from his shoulders. He had never been one for plans, but if he had known that the result could possibly feel this good he may have done it before. Plans often went wrong, or led you astray, betraying your interests and being just as unreliable as people.

Feeling a renewed strength he stood up, his back cracking from its hours spent prone, sitting by the baseball pitch. The sun was now streaming above the horizon, transforming the sky into a patchwork of colour and giving the Southside a deceptively pleasant appearance. He turned back towards the road, making his way back towards the house, already beginning to feel the burden of his decision. All that would possibly go wrong began to fill him with fear, his stomach clenching and unclenching as he walked. For too long he had acted on fear, and the results had never brought him any satisfaction. Now it was time to try something different; something new.

It was still early and no one was awake. The only people to be seen outside their houses were the local drunks, one of whom was probably Frank, making their way home or that equivalent after a night of drinking. Others were taking the fabled walk of shame, in rumpled clothing from the night before. In this neighbourhood shame was practically non-existent and the only way to discern its victims were the way their heads hung low as they walked, staring at the ground before their feet. The only judgement passed upon them coming from themselves, because no one else cared.

Mickey had never looked like one of them, always striding through the streets with a sense of purpose, his head held high and a menacing expression on his face. What few others knew was the lengths he went to project this image; merely a bluff essential for his survival in the town. Although it made him few allies, it also kept him from having any outspoken enemies. Even those who did were soon taken care of as an example to others, reinforcing his current image. All of this had been so meticulously constructed, protecting him from closeness to others and the possible pain that came with it and physical harm. Despite this it had still managed to find him frequently, making his life more interesting.

He was still unsure whether the positive side of this outweighed the negative, because recently the effectiveness of it had begun to wear thin, the isolation caused by it taking its toll. If it were merely isolation that he had to deal with then maybe he would be able to bear it, but in this confined existence he was trapped now only with his family, three quarters of which he couldn't stand. His father: always there to take away any positive part of his life, making sure to crush any and all hope he had ever come into contact with. His brothers: constantly present and yet only good for helping beat people up.

He could spend forever theorising on the nature of his life, but still make no progress only chasing thoughts in circles, but for the first time in forever he felt he was sure of something: he couldn't live like he had been. There was no turning back.

He had almost reached the house, certain of his purpose and what he was going to do, even if he was unsure of the impact it would have. He crossed the last street to his house, stepping over the grimy gutter and up towards the steps of the house. He pushed open the unlocked front door, ignoring the squeaky noise it made as he entered the house. He had remembered once when their family image lacked the threat that it held now, and they had locked the door to stop people entering. He supposed that was what most people did.

For the first time in weeks he headed towards the shower, quickly stripping off the still damp clothes, placing them on the towel rack to dry. He didn't wait for the water to become hot and gasped as the cold water turned his body to ice, enjoying the feeling it brought him, reminding him he was alive. Only staying in the shower for a few minutes, long enough to feel cleaner than he had in the last few years, he quickly washed, purposefully brief so as to not be late to work. This was strange because he usually didn't care, however he needed to lose himself in the consistency of the job, and satisfaction of monetary gain; one of the few pleasures still remaining in his life. However, Mickey knew that his true intention was prolonging the time before he would have to do what he had resolved the night before.

Once again struggling to find clothing amongst the clutter of his room that wasn't too horrendously dirty, he settled on a pale blue t-shirt with minimal stains, along with a pair of worn black jeans, comforting. After locating his shoes and pulling them on, not bothering to untie the laces, he left the house as quickly as he could: he didn't want to come into contact with any of the other inhabitants of the house.

He found himself running along the pavement, his loose shoes making loud satisfying slaps with each stride. This time he wasn't panicked and enjoyed how the even pace of his heartbeat picked up and breathing quickened, clearing his head. Few people were still up yet so he was surprised when he could see a figure leaning against the front wall of the Kash and Grab. As he approached he was able to gain more detail of the person, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Now close enough to identify him he felt paralysed, unable to take a step further. He felt his recent resolve and control begin to crumble, and the world once again descended into the mess it had been weeks before when he had last seen _him._

Before he was even able to process the thoughts now crashing around his skull he felt a monosyllabic word leave his lips that seemed to perfectly sum up each one of them.

"Fuck".


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey stood, temporarily frozen to the spot, unsure of how to react. He was trapped, unsure of how to act. He searched his mind for instruction on what to do next but it appeared that all rational thought had left his mind. Recovering physically from the shock he realised that he was bound to be looking like an idiot, stopped dead twenty feet away from his original destination.

Still unsure of how to proceed, he decided he needed to at least move so he continued walking, attempting and failing to even his steps, and avoiding eye contact with the figure before him. Thoughts raced around his mind at a pace seemingly impossible for such a short amount of time, each one sending him into more of a state of uncertainty.

_What was he doing here?_ Thought Mickey, still avoiding eye contact until it was absolutely necessary. Fighting the impulse to run away, he arrived all too soon at the door of the shop. He was now no further than six feet away from him, his skin prickling and feeling completely uncoordinated in his every move. Hoping he didn't look nearly as weak as he felt he finally lifted his eyes from the ground, to meet those of the man that now stood before him. He was unprepared for the sensation of his heart leaping into his throat, and found it hard to breath. Ian was the same as he had been a few weeks before when he had seen him last, so familiar and yet he felt like the person before him was a complete stranger. He had the same messy red hair, rippling in the breeze as it had in his dream, though his expression held none of the same pain that it had in the dream. Instead it held a hardened expression difficult for Mickey to read, his full lips slightly downturned and his eyes usually bright had a strange blankness to them. His stance was neutral, arms folded across his chest though not in defensive manner.

Feelings of guilt, shame, anger and sadness clashed around his skull, unable for him to discern what he was supposed to do; what he was supposed to say. Was he to feel guilt and shame for his inexcusable actions, or anger at being left behind? Was he to beg at his feet for forgiveness or lash out at him, making it unable for him to escape his own part in what had happened. Were it not for his telling last word, "don't", he might have been able to carry on as though Ian knew nothing of his true feelings. He cursed his momentary weakness, how he had not been strong enough to make him stay, and not strong enough to completely supress his emotions.

He opened his mouth to speak, to break the silence that had now settled uncomfortably around them, but found him unable to utter a word. He cleared his throat, and attempted to speak again.

"What are you doing here"? His voice was hoarse, and he was unsure whether he was prepared for any response, still shocked by the mere sight of him. He felt there was more he was supposed to say but nothing seems to be appropriate, all the unspoken words filled the empty space between them, forming a barrier both protecting and separating them from each other.

"Didn't seem like my best option". The statement seemed like an attempt to be casual, as though his departure hadn't been as painful as it had for both of them, but it came out in a clipped tone that wavered almost unnoticeably.

"What was it that made you think that: the threat of death there, or the brilliant life for you here"? Mickey replied his voice uneven and a slightly higher pitch than usual, failing at lightening the situation. He turned away from Ian, no longer able to bear his scrutiny, and set his hands to the task of unlocking the door of the store. He fumbled with the keys and tried to look disinterested while waiting impatiently for Ian to break the silence that had now descended.

Finally getting the door open he entered, hearing Ian follow him, uncomfortably close behind him. He walked to the register, turning around and leaning against it to face Ian. Ian's posture screamed how uncomfortable he was, standing next to the closed door with a now more venerable expression. Neither made any signs of breaking the silence, and Mickey realised that someone had to.

"Listen Ian, I don't know what you want me to say and I'm not good with words anyway, so I'd probably just get it wrong", he began, hoping the statement didn't sound as cold as it had to his ears. He didn't want to be offensive, but struggled to find the right words to even begin to express one of the many thoughts flooding his head.

Ian remained silent, once again staring at the floor. His eyes briefly flickered upwards before returning to a place somewhere near his feet.

"I don't know how-", he was cut off by Ian pushing him into the counter, mouth upon his. All thoughts of speech left his head; a flash of brief confusion took hold of him. He quickly responded to his lips with the same ferocity and passion, forgetting any other thoughts. Ian brought his hands up to Mickey's hair, twining in the short mass of black, directing him so that they were closer, and pushing him further towards the counter, causing it to become uncomfortable against his spine. The kiss became messy, a clash of teeth and tongues, the world around them briefly disappearing.

Suddenly Ian broke away, his cheeks flushed and breathing uneven as he ran a hand through his now disarrayed hair. His expression was one of confusion and surprise. What had happened obviously wasn't planned. He turned around, his back to Mickey who heard him silently curse under his breath.

"_Fuck"._


	5. Chapter 5

Ian had turned back towards Mickey, and was standing awkwardly four feet away. His hands were now shoved into his pockets, obviously uncomfortable with what had happened. He suspected Mickey was in a similar state, standing across from him with his arms folded and eyes directed towards the ground, once again avoiding contact. It became obvious that neither of them wanted to talk first. Ian cleared his throat and made a pathetic attempt to regain composure.

"Although I hate the use of these words, we need to talk", Ian started, keeping his voice steady and pulling his fingers through his hair, also avoiding eye contact. Usually he would have been nervous about making such a loaded statement, but by this point he was fed up with all of the tiptoeing around things left unsaid. He also wanted to regain the ground he had lost by kissing Mickey.

Mickey nodded, eyes also directed towards the ground, as though its shiny, scuffed surface held an answer to the mess they had made.

"When does your shift end"? It would have sounded like a pick up line if it hadn't been said in such a serious, even tone. Ian's gaze had lifted and he was beginning to look more in control of the situation, his eyes no longer holding fear and uncertainty.

"Five", replied Mickey. It was the first time he had spoken since the kiss, and he didn't even try to hold a strong tone, his voice crackly and weak, representing him is the most honest light since Ian had reappeared.

Ian silently nodded, and left the store, an unspoken agreement to meet him there then. The door snapping shut shook Mickey out of the daze he had been in. He mechanically made his way around the store, the monotonous tasks working their magic on his overactive mind, effectively clearing it for the time.

Ian was shaken, and unsure what he had been thinking would happen when he arrived at the store. _Where should I go?_ He thought, after being away for a few weeks he hoped he would be welcome back home, but knew it would be humiliating explaining everything, despite it being the best option for now. Knowing no one would be there at the moment made it almost bearable. He walked in the vague direction of the house, but soon found that it was too easy to think whilst walking at a leisurely pace. He broke into a run and then sprint when he could still hear his thoughts. His feet made satisfying slaps against the concrete, mingling with the noises of the street. He dodged and leapt over pieces of trash left in his path, happy with his even breaths and consistent heartbeat. Sweat began to trickle down his neck, his hair becoming matted and clothes sticking to his skin.

The streets were the same as they had always been but for some reason held a strange quality since he had returned, as though they were no longer his. The ground looked a little dirtier, the skies a little more grey and the peeling paint of the houses just a little more dull. It was as though his senses had been dulled and the world a bit more separate from the world he was currently in. He still wasn't sure whether this was a good or a bad thing, but it certainly made it easier to deal with the recent events.

When he arrived at the house his pulse was racing. Though it hadn't been a long distance he had ran faster than he usually would, not pacing himself like he usually would for long distance. Stretching his arms above his head he pulled off his shirt as he strode through his bedroom door, glad that no one was home to witness his return. Though he was coated with sweat he collapsed onto his bed, so tired that it was no longer possible for him to remain awake. Before he drifted off to sleep he set his alarm on his phone to 4:30.

He awoke from his dreamless sleep only to be confronted by the immediacy of his meeting with Mickey. He groaned lightly and rolled onto his front, covering his head from the afternoon sun streaming through the window. His head filled with thoughts and half formed plans on what he would say; what he would do and what would happen afterwards. The sound of the front door being unlocked pulled his from his thoughts, causing him to scramble to get out of bed: though he was rested he was still unable to confront his family yet. He leapt out of bed grabbing a hoodie off the floor, probably his brother's, before running to the bathroom to splash water on his face and armpits, making himself almost presentable as he snuck out the back door.

He threw the hoodie over his head and glanced towards the front of the house to check that he was out of the view of whoever had just entered the house. Sure that the coast was clear he ducked under the windows, and ran towards the store, pulling the hood down to conceal his bright red hair and face.


	6. Chapter 6

He shoved his fisted hands deep into the pockets of the hoodie to keep them from shaking as he walked quickly to the store. His nails dug into his palms leaving white crescent shapes, twisting the front of the hoodie as he clutched them to his stomach which was currently performing an elaborate series of backflips. The journey, once again, passed much too quickly for his liking and before he knew it he once again found himself in from of the shop. To his dismay Mickey was, for once, early and already waiting outside the shop, leaning on its closed door and smoking as he shifted from foot to foot in a nervous manner that was unfamiliar to him. Mickey looked up to see Ian approaching him and immediately stood up stiffly, nodding his head towards the road to indicate which direction they would be going in.

They began to walk down the road side by side, though not acknowledging each other in words their stiff bodies indicated the discomfort that they both shared from being in such close proximity to each other. They both would occasionally shift their eyes towards the other before returning to either the ground or the way they were headed. Eventually they reached their destination: the rooftop where they had spent so much of their time. The sun was casting a strange glow on the area, impossibly bright and colourful despite the bleak weather they had been experiencing is the past few days. Ian walked to the far edge and against the sun all Mickey could see was his silhouette as he awkwardly kicked the ground whilst lighting up a cigarette, sucking in a deep breath whilst his hands visibly shook.

"Ok, since you still seem to be too scared or something to start, I will", sighed Ian, clearly already exasperated and dreading the conversation to come as much as he had been before.

"What are we"?

In three words Ian had asked what was possibly one of the hardest questions Mickey had ever been asked. He had asked himself the question many times but each time he would soon shake it off, and tell himself or attempt to lie to himself, saying that Ian was just a way to blow off steam. A release. Though he would never have admitted he was more aloud, he did know that Ian was much more.

Ian cleared his throat, detecting that Mickey wasn't going to speak. Mickey was staring at the ground, frozen in place as though afraid to move for fear of being detected.

"To me we aren't friends, or boyfriends, lovers or anything that other people would consider a romantic relationship. I do know I... care about you, and you care about me." He paused and his eyes flickered to observe the reaction his words would create. Though ha was acting wary it was clear that he was unafraid to express his opinion. They were both tired of the uncertainty, but Ian was the only one brave enough to say anything. He ran a hand angrily through his red hair, turned more brilliant by the sun setting behind him. He turned on his heel and paced calmly towards the edge of the building. A minute of silence passed and Mickey remained frozen and unable to respond. Suddenly Ian spun back to face Mickey and strode threateningly towards him closing the space between them.

"Fuck 'care about', you love me", Ian growled, having gained confidence and lost the control he had held over his emotion. "You can't keep bullshitting me and yourself, and you most certainly can't expect me to put up with your shit: your fucked up denial and fear". Ian practically yelled the last few words, causing Mickey to finally lift his gaze from his feet and meet Ian's defiant stare.

"I do". It was the first thing Mickey had said, and was barley audible, only a hollow whisper. "Love you, I mean", he said.

Though Ian already knew this he felt his heart leap into his throat and stomach drop as though he was free falling. It was completely unexpected since he had long ago lost hope of ever hearing these few words uttered to him. He had little clue what he had expected coming back or what seeing Mickey would achieve, other than possibly causing more disappointment and pain.

Ian reached between them and grasped Mickey's wrist, causing him to flinch as though expecting to be struck, but was instead tugged into an embrace.

"I know"

Ian's response uttered into his left ear, though simple, seemed to make the world disappear making all of Mickey's uncertainties briefly dissolve into the clear skies around them, no longer relevant. Ian's arms wrapped around him in such a common gesture of affection was unfamiliar to him: so unlike their usually debauched embraces filled with lust and passion.

Ian stepped away, not waiting to be embraced in return and walked once again to the ledge where he then sat down, his legs hanging over the edge. His eyed were closed against the brightness of the sun, his face a picture of serenity in the midst of the buildings chaotic disrepair. The sun lit up his face, causing it to glow beautifully in the sun, his hair glinting with gold. He was the most gorgeous thing Mickey had ever laid eyes on.

_Fuck, did I just think that? _Thought Mickey, surprised by his own out of character, soppy thoughts. _Fuck it_, he resigned, _he is fucking beautiful, and hot_.

He cleared his head and walked towards where Ian was sitting, then quietly sat down beside him. Keeping his eyes locked on Ian's unchanging serene face he forgot his trouble and what would follow this moment. Nothing else mattered and the world was theirs alone.

Mickey reached over and rested his palm on Ian's cheek, fingers curling into his hairline as he hesitated to move any closer when hearing an intake of breath. Mickey leaned in and placed a light kiss upon Ian's dry, chapped lips, keeping his eyes open. He drew away and stroked his fingers through Ian's hair before trailing his arm around his shoulder to pull himself closer, savoring the rare moment of tenderness, unfamiliar to both of them.


	7. Chapter 7

"What even is this rooftop anyway"? Ian broke the comfortable silence that they had shared for the past half hour. They had moved so that they were lying side by side on their backs, with their eyes directed towards the now deep blue and purple bruised sky.

Mickey choked out a barking laugh, surprised by the abstract nature of the question.

"Actually, I have no idea", he replied, realising it as he spoke the words. "The first time I came here I was around eight, and more of an asshole than a badass, but thought otherwise".

Ian's body shook in a silent laughter as he passed the glowing joint they were sharing back to Mickey, who took in a deep lungful before returning it to him. Though it was darkening and shadows were cast across Mickey's face obscuring his expression, Ian could tell that he was smiling with bright eyes full of the life they had lacked the last time they had seen each other.

"I used to be afraid of heights, and one time I pissed Mandy off, so she dared me to climb the ladder up the side of the building".

"So instead of refusing, you did it to avoid looking like a pussy in front of your brothers, right"? Ian stated more than asked, his voice filled with amusement at the thought of a defiant, determined yet scared eight year old Mickey scaling the building.

Mickey was surprised by how well Ian knew him, even before they became acquainted.

"Yeah". He sighed at the memory before continuing. "Anyway, I climbed up, scared shitless the whole time, but when I got up here I felt the safest I had in ages. Like I was in my own world, and the height didn't even bother me".

"Come on, you're creative with excuses, you could have totally avoided climbing? Or were you as much of a dumbass then as you are now"? Teased Ian.

"You're missing the point", groaned Mickey.

"What point? That you're shit with excuses"?

"Fuck off", he bit off, laughing as he moved his arm to swat it playfully across the top of Ian's head.

In response Ian rolled onto his side and punched Mickey in the arm, but his retracting wrist was caught by Mickey's hand. Before he could twist away Mickey rolled both of them, pinning Ian beneath him. Ian, now uncomfortable, twisted out of the hold Mickey had on his wrist, and flipped them over so he was now pinning Mickey down, straddling his torso. Mickey moved to grasp Ian's waist as roll them again, but his wrists were caught by Ian and held above his head.

Mickey growled and struggled to free himself, though knowing both of them were enjoying the carefree moment. Ian leaned down so his warm breath could be felt on his ear. Ian's lips grazed his earlobe as he said in a whisper, much alike a purr, "I thought you liked me on top".

Mickey choked out a laughing cough, and twisted one of his arms out from Ian's grasp, and elbowed him in the stomach, causing him to roll off, wheezing with laughter.

They were both short of breath, and lay once again side by side gasping half from laughter and recovering from their minor injuries.

The sky had darkened to a deep blue and stars were flickering to life, only able to be viewed here, away from the unnatural light of the streets. It gave the rooftop a magical feel, as though the heavens were lit just for them. It felt ridiculously romantic they were both enjoying it, though neither of them would admit it aloud.

Both of them had no idea what would happen to them or anything that would follow this night: all they were sure was each other. It was their own separate world, their own reality that existed out of real time. They were the kings of all they saw, felt and heard. They were the rulers of the cold rough surface they lay on; the biting air that their breaths would create mist in; the endless blue and black; the flickering stars that filled the skies.

Ian shuffled over so that their sides were touching, and hands brushing together. To Ian's surprise, Mickey threaded his fingers through his. The simple gesture made his whole body buzz and feel relaxed at the same time, making for a strange sensation. He turned his head towards Mickey's, confused and unsure of what to make of the stranger he now felt he lay beside.

He returned his gaze to the sky, feeling himself begin to lose consciousness as his eyes drifted closed. He briefly fought against heavy lids, wanting to savour the moment that he doubted would ever occur again. This soon became impossible and he felt himself drifting helplessly, as though losing himself. He was pulled slightly from the edge of sleep by movement he felt beside him.

He could feel Mickey's breath on his ear, and his short hair brushing his. A soft whisper, barley louder than a breath was heard, making a single syllable word that shot through his whole body, cutting into his consciousness.

"Mine".

Though no response was necessary, Ian twisted so that he was face to face with him, their eyes level.

"Yours"

He felt the corners of his mouth lift in what was undoubtable a lazy yet deliriously happy smile. Their noses grazed as they brought them closer together so their foreheads touched. Ian began to fall back into sleep filled with a sense of peace, when he heard a bark of laughter from his side.

"Ian", wheezed Mickey, fighting laughter.

"What"? Replied Ian, mildly annoyed at being pulled from the sweet silence they had shared.

"You were right". Mickey was practically giggling now, his whole body shaking.

"About what"? He sighed, expecting some lewd comment or joke to shatter the moment.

Mickey had to gasp for breath between laughter to finish what he was trying to say.

"About me… I'm so…fucking…gay".


	8. Chapter 8

A sharp pain in his ribs woke Mickey from his sleep, causing him to sit up, blinking blearily as he attempted to remember where he was. The absence of a headache was encouraging and uncommon for him considering his usual alcohol consumption; however his back and shoulders ached from having slept on the hard concrete of the roof. Ian was to his left and also sitting up, looking disorientated and confused. Realising he must have elbowed Mickey in the ribs; he threw an apologetic grin to Mickey.

"Sorry. Reflex response. Didn't know it was your hand on my waist".

Mickey winced, realising how intimate they had become. Remembering the previous evening he suddenly felt more exposed than he ever had, and with Ian grinning at him now he began to feel uncomfortable. He averted his eyes from Ian's face and looked towards the rising sun that had caused them to wake. Its orange glare that was just above the horizon suggested that it was still early into the day. Mickey stood up, his stiff limbs cracking as he stretched, collateral damage from the night they had spent on the roof.

It was a minute before Ian stood too, stiff as well. His limbs felt as though they were made of lead and he was once again uncomfortable with his proximity to Mickey. It was as though the magic, enchantment of the night before had gone, taking with it the illusion of simplicity and happiness. Both of them were unsure of where they stood now and where they would go next. Neither of them knew where to begin.

Mickey lifted his gaze from the horizon and back to Ian who was awkwardly dusting off his jumper, as though the task held the solution to their problems. His eyes had deep purple bags beneath them, and there were red marks from gravel on his cheek. Mickey couldn't stand the silence much longer so he pulled a cigarette out on the squashed pack in his back pocket and lit up.

"I seriously need coffee". Mickey's voice was rough and raspy but the hope in his voice turned the statement into more of an invitation.

Ian nodded in agreement and led the way towards the door leading off the roof. The echoes of their feet on the stairs as they descended seemed too loud and harsh on their ears. The silence continued as they walked, a few paces from each other. An observer would assume they were strangers if it weren't for the same pace they kept. They were the only ones up, and though they were alone in the streets, the world no longer felt as if it was theirs alone.

They reached the nearest coffee shop in less than 15 minutes. They both ordered large long black coffees, though Mickey really wanted a latte but was felt he needed to re-establish the masculinity he felt he had lost in last night's sentimentality, even if it meant putting up with the bitterness of the coffee. It helped clear his head, serving a better purpose than the original, but wasn't worth it. They paid separately and avoided eye contact, as though when seeing them together the barrister would unfurl a rainbow flag and serenade their relationship, for lack of a better word.

They sipped their coffees in silence, quickly finishing it and tossing their disposable cups into a nearby bin. Ian scuffed his shoe on the ground, looking up at Mickey who leaned against the window of the coffee shop, arms crossed and eyes closed in a relaxed expression.

"I'd better go, you know, explain to my sister". The words were clipped and businesslike.

"Yeah, I need to head to work", Mickey's words were detached and hollow, as though echoed.

They began to head in the same direction, when Ian stopped in the middle of the path. Mickey slowed and turned around to see what had caused his sudden halt.

"Did you mean it"? Ian was glaring angrily into Mickey's eyes, searching for an answer.

Mickey nodded, causing Ian to grin widely before picking up his pace and passing Mickey, a new spring in his step. Mickey felt slightly confused as to what to do, not wanting to show affection, but also not wanting to let the moment pass.

"Fuck it", he growled under his breath.

He ran the paces that Ian had gained ahead of him and caught up quickly, cutting him off. Before Ian could question his actions, Mickey pushed him into the wall they were walking along and kissed him hard, on the lips. It was short and rough, but seemed to convey the message. Mickey smirked at Ian's shock, before spinning on his heel and continuing down the road, incredibly pleased and shocked by his own actions. He was caught between the impulse to whoop and run away before someone saw him and was able to realise what he had just done.

Ian caught up and this time kept pace with him.

"You free tonight? 'Cause I want to take you out", Ian almost sang, already knowing the answer.

Mickey briefly scowled at how much like a couple they were becoming, but the expression left his face when Ian leaned over and wrapped an arm round his shoulders, grinning wildly. In response Mickey elbowed him in the stomach, smirking back.

Their moment of happiness was shattered by a shout from a passing car window.

"Faggots".

In a reflex reaction they both yelled "fuck off" almost in unison and flipped off the car.

The moment passed in less than a second, but it alone was enough to crush the happiness Mickey had been beginning to feel. It was the first time anyone had used that against him in a way specifically because of his behaviour. Usually it was him who was using it against other people.

He was pulled from his thoughts by Ian grabbing his shoulder, spinning him around to face him.

"Hey, cheer up. Tonight I'll take you where all the fags go. It'll be fucking awesome".


	9. Chapter 9

As Ian walked away from Mickey he began to feel the happiness he had felt melt away. He raised a hand to his temple as though to soothe the headache he felt begin to throb from the thought of the day ahead. He had little to do, but the task of confronting his sister and family was much more terrifying than he would like to admit. He removed his hand to check the road which was now filling with cars, no doubt filed with people on their way to work. To Ian it seemed strange that all of them had their lives together and in a monotonous yet functional cycle. They had children, jobs, families and lives while he seemed to struggle at the simplest of tasks. He knew life wasn't that simple for anyone, but his own disability to function seemed to make it feel that way.

Crossing the road he broke into a jog, wanting to get home before Fiona left so that he would be able to face up to how he had spent the past few weeks. Though it wasn't as bad as any of the times their father had disappeared, or their mother had left their family, it still felt bad to have left the way he had when his family seemed to be falling apart. He ignored the honk of a car that he passed in front of and continued jogging to get home.

When he arrived outside the house the brightness of the morning sun had made its state of disrepair seem more obvious. The remaining patches of grass somehow seemed to be both wilted and yellow whilst soaked in rain. The paint was chipped and had faded to a creamy colour from its original white. The familiarity of the house comforted him despite its condition. The weeks he had missed it had made a little difference to its state.

He approached the porch and inhaled a breath before stepping inside. As soon as he opened the door he felt a wall of sound and energy hit him. Though it was the normal for their home at breakfast time, but the weeks spent away had been mostly in silence, away from the clutter and clamor of their house. Sounds of cereal hitting bowls, kettle whistling, toast popping, cutlery clinking and screams from his siblings filled his ears. Not knowing where to begin he stood in the doorway, deciding that it was better to wait until he was noticed than to interrupt the chaotic yet rhythmic nature of the room. Rocking back on the balls of his feet he stood, feeling as though a ghost, unnoticed.

Suddenly a crash of a dish in a sink seemed to alert the room of his presence. The room fell silent as Fiona approached him, a blank expression on her face. She stopped two feet in front of him, as though waiting for him to talk, an eyebrow raised questioningly. When he failed to make an explanation she slapped him across the face, snapping him out of his daze.

"The fuck have you been"? she stated calmly, voice raised to almost a screech.

He struggled to find words, stammering before clearing his throat to attempt again.

"Needed to get away." The words sounded somehow wrong as they left his lips, all to similar to their Mother or Father's the multiple times they had abandoned them.

"Huh", she spat, obviously annoyed, "Well now you're back there's washing and dishes to be done, since you have nothing to do".

She span on her heel and continued about the kitchen and continued the things to do about the kitchen, quickly moving from one point to the next as she completed each task. Though the matter seemed concluded, he could tell from her tense hunched shoulders that she was unhappy, but whether he had caused this he was unsure as she so often was. From a quick glance around the room he was able to catch many judgmental glares from his siblings before they looked away. It would be a while before things with them were back to normal. He moved from his position to the bench to pour himself a cup of coffee before beginning the tasks ahead. Usually he would refuse chores such as these, especially when asked in such a harsh manner, but he was in dire need of brownie points.

His siblings moved around the room in a dance-like fashion, each of them weaving through as lunches were prepared and dishes stacked. He felt left out as he stood there sipping his coffee. It wasn't long before they were rushed out of the house by Fiona.

Before she left the house she stopped in front of him.

"Talk later", her voice was serious and more of a command than request.

Ian nodded, then stopped her, realizing what had been missing from the house. "Where's Lip"?

"Don't know"

She then left, and he stood there, unsure where to start on his tasks. He felt so out of place and sync, the sudden silence of the house almost eerie. He wondered where Lip could be, but assured himself it would probably just have been last night that he was away. Moving to wash the dishes he assured himself that his life would return to normal. He was still unsure whether this would be a good or a bad thing. Setting into the tasks he felt a sense of relief, and motivated himself with his promise of going out with Mickey tonight. It would be good to escape from the real world again, even if only for another night.


	10. Chapter 10

This time Mickey had managed to sneak in and out of his house even more efficiently than the times previously. In a matter of minutes he had located a relatively clean shirt, splashed water on his face and exited quickly, without even so much as seeing any of his family, or his wife. He had left work early to return home to get the shirt, not wanting to alert Ian that he was actually caring about his appearance, or putting in effort for someone else. He would meet him back outside the store.

Thoughts of the night ahead were both thrilling and scary. He needed this night off, but he wondered whether it was safe. He had begun to stop caring, and it was somewhat horrifying. By the time he was waiting outside the store it was almost dark, and his nervousness had set in. For as long as he was able to speak, he had claimed to detest everything gay, yet here he was waiting for Ian to take him to what he had assumed was a homosexual drinking establishment. The internalised homophobic side of him writhed and whimpered uncomfortably stabbing his chest.

Soon Ian arrived, looking cleaner and more rested than he had the day previously, looking sharp in a wrinkled button down and skinny jeans. Where they were going he would fit right in, though his twink-like appearance seemed somewhat conflicting to what Mickey knew all too well of his personality.

"Whoa, dude, you almost look actually clean", Ian murmured, before letting out a low whistle as he took a step back to check him out.

He swung an arm across his shoulders and pulled him closer, so that his nose skimmed Mickey's cheekbone.

"But I know much better". It was meant to sound seductive but Ian's voice was filled with the laughter he was holding back at having uttered the words.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, fighting hard to keep back the blush that he could feel creeping across his face. He aimed a soft punch at Ian's shoulder playfully, which he dodged as he hopped off the sidewalk and headed off in the direction they would be going. The streetlight seemed to dance across his retreating form, making his movements seem precise and graceful. He caught up and walked alongside his, unsure where they were going. Glancing to his side he could see Ian's eyes sparkling with happiness and was mystified that he could possibly be the cause of this. It was so strange to have someone value his presence so much, and he was so used to creating his own joy by inflicting pain on others.

The journey was short, but when they arrived it felt as though they had entered another world. The nightlife transformed the streets, making them awash with colour and vibrancy unlike anything Mickey had felt before. As he was passed by a drag queen he fought to supress the homophobic remarks that seemed to flow so easily to his mind from years of practice. She glided gracefully past, her beautiful dress swayed as she sashayed along the sidewalk as though it was her own personal runway.

"You're one of us now".

Mickey was broken from is shell-shocked state by the hollow whisper in his ear. He turned to see Ian supressing laughter, obviously taking the piss out of how uncomfortable Mickey appeared to be.

"You need to loosen up. Relax".

Mickey rolled his shoulders back and attempted to look a bit less like a kitten with his fur on end. They stood outside a club, waiting in line for an absurdly long amount of time. In the time they stood there they were each propositioned by at least three guys, each at a varied level of inebriation. A couple beside them were making out furiously as though trying to eat each other's faces, seemingly unaware of the people around them, looking in danger of almost fucking right there on the grimy sidewalk.

Mickey and Ian shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, just wanting to get in already. Eventually the space between them and the the door dwindled, and as they entered the club they weren't even carded as the doorman winked at them suggestively before allowing them to pass.

Mickey was unprepared for the sudden change of scenery when they stepped through the doorway. He could feel the bass of the music through his feet, shooting through his chest like a pulse. He lost himself in the bright flashing lights and noise, but was brought back to earth by the soft touch of Ian's hand in his. Grasping it he was led to the dance floor, where they wove through writhing bodies until they could no longer see the walls through the masses. Between the flashes of strobe lights he could catch the expression on Ian's face making him gain the confidence to pull him closer so they could dance as the other couples did on the dance floor, almost as though they were one of them. It was strange and wonderful all at the same time.

Among st the walls of bodies they swayed together, rippling in the waves of music that washed over them, bathing them in this other-world, different even to the one they had been in the night before. Sweating, they emerged from the dance floor to get beers. Managing to elbow his way through the crowd at the bar he was able to get their drinks. He returned with two beers, after paying an absurd amount of money. As he handed one to Ian his hand left prints on the perspiring bottle. They both took a swig and leaned back against the bar to finally take in the whole club. On the far wall in bold letters was the name of the club printed in large lettering, "Hole in the Wall". Tasteful.

There were many gorgeous girls also at the bar, who Mickey would usually be trying to get off with. This was different: not only did he not feel pressured to but he also knew that all of them were either gay or there with their friends simply for the purpose of not being hit on. It was refreshing.

He briefly attempted to go to the bathroom, but it became clear that it was more for shooting up and anonymous sex than urination, and he barley managed to exit without being dragged into one of the cubicles.

After they finished their drinks then made their way back into the masses of grinding bodies, losing themselves again to the beat of music and glare of lights.


	11. Chapter 11

It was around 1:00am when they stumbled from the club, both exhilarated from their night of blissful enjoyment. Ian spun around in the streetlight, the shift back to reality leaving him with whiplash as the cool breeze played across his cheeks, lightly ruffling the hair at his temples and sending shivers down his spine.

Mickey stood back in wonder at how the gloomy light managed to refract of every detail of his partner's brilliant red hair, and dance across his eyelashes that grazed his cheeks with closed eyes and head tilted to the night sky.

Grasping his arm and pulling him into a firm embrace Mickey placed a brief kiss on his lips, of ownership and possession. In the time they had spent in the club they had both been propositioned, hit on, flirted with and grinded against as well as any variation thereof. The club seemed to be a separate world in which youth and beauty were idolised, each person there a Peter Pan on his own quest to avoid ageing. As they both lacked neither youth nor beauty, they were objects of desire.

Despite this they had remained in their own bubble as though their surroundings ceased to exist. It was only the thrum of the music, the flashing lights, and their own bodies simply moving to them.

Ian pulled away and began to walk down the street, this time waiting for Mickey.

"All the guys in there were fucking hot". His statement was blunt, causing Mickey to snort. Personally he had found the atmosphere to be fake and narcissistic. But there was no doubt that many of them were seriously hot, especially the go-go boys dancing on platforms raised from the floor, each wearing only enough to cover anything important.

"We were pretty fucking hot too". Mickey responded with, almost scoffing at the notion that anyone could outshine him. It was absurd.

"Everyone else seemed to think so", Ian's voice was light in response.

"Remember that guy"

"Oh yeah, he was so old and just seemed to come out of nowhere"

"Yeah, 'You young things need a Sugar Daddy', and the whole time he was eyeing our asses"

"I know. I mean I almost felt violated but then remembered he was just a fucking creep. We flipped him off in sync."

"Other people thing finishing each other's sentences is sweet, but I think offending people simultaneously is the ultimate sign of synchronicity". Mickey joked, but suddenly found himself shifting uncomfortably at how much like a couple they were acting, even while mocking others.

They walked a few more blocks before becoming uncomfortable, no longer on the high of excitement and buzz from the alcohol.

"Where the fuck are we going to go anyway"? Ian broke the silence, drawing attention to the fact that they had nowhere to go. Mickey's place was filled with people that neither of them wanted to risk running into, especially since Mickey had been pretty much MIA for the past two days. The Gallagher's was less life threatening, but still not appealing.

Mickey shrugged, obviously not wanting to admit that he had nowhere to go and was relying of Ian's response to provide him for a means of accommodation for the night.

"You can crash at ours, but you'll have to be discrete. I know that's not your style but I'm still on probation and pushing the limits"

Mickey nodded in a non-committal manner and they continued their journey through the darkened streets.

When they arrived at the house it was locked, and Ian took advantage of his knowledge of the spare key, feeling like a thief in the dead of night and he stole into the house, careful not to be too loud. They stifled the noise by removing their shoes, trying not to laugh at the caution they were taking. They reached the lounge room where they grabbed opposite ends of the couch, Mickey feeling extremely out of place in the relatively stable household.

Their legs were tangled in a way that was somewhat uncomfortable but wouldn't prevent them from catching some sleep. It all felt a bit too domestic for Mickey's comfort, but he was too tired to complain and would have to deal.

Tiredness was beginning to set in and the silence of the room was one so different to that of the club. Ian lay awake, anxious as to what they would do tomorrow. They had to do something and stop escaping into their own world, but that was much more complicated.

"What are we going to do", His voice was soft and almost like a sigh that was lost in the emptiness of the room. Despite this, Mickey heard it, also aware of their uncertain futures.

"Just be". The two words of response held much more assurance than intended, clearing his mind of his worries.

Sitting up cautiously, Ian untangled his legs from Mickey's. He moved slowly, as though moving too fast would cause him to panic. He twisted around and shoved a disgruntled Mickey slightly to make room for him. Settling so that he was now face to face with him, in the same direction he drew an arm around him, pulling him into his chest, closing the already small space between them.

The small space of the couch allowed little space, and was more intimate than Mickey was expecting. His back stiffened briefly before he settled into the arm now en circling him. He felt warmth fill his chest as he drifted into sleep, more content than he would like anyone to know, glad of the concealment the night provided them.


	12. Chapter 12

The sun filtered through the grimy windows, casting shadow across the far side of Mickey's face. Ian had been awake for the past five minutes, afraid to move for fear of startling him away. It was strange that he could feel so content while having such a large pain in his neck from the night shared on the couch.

Mickey's dark eyelashes fluttered then flew wide open, unaware of his surroundings. His eyes came into contact with Ian's, who then lifted his free hand with a finger to his lips. He nodded in response and blinked blearily trying to piece together where they were. Realising his arm was wound around Ian's waist he quickly moved to sit up, turning so his bright red face would be less conspicuous.

He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face attempting to wake up. He could tell it was still early, but defiantly didn't want to be caught here. Turning back to Ian he nodded towards the door, before getting up and heading towards it. Ian followed, feet light on the floor as he attempted to make as little noise as possible.

The sounds of heavy footsteps made Ian stiffen and have to decide whether to stay or bolt to the door as fast as possible. Deciding that he ran far too often, he relaxed his stance, to discover it was Fiona.

"Relax dude, I already know you were here all night", she said sleepily obviously having noticed that they were making a break for the door.

"Thanks"

"You'd better not have fucked on the couch though", she stated plainly, causing a choking noise to erupt from Micky, still standing nervously near the door.

"Come on, like you haven't done it before", snapped Ian.

She shrugged in response.

"Since you're not legging it, would you like coffee?"

"Sure"

"Then make some"

Ian should have seen that coming, but moved to turn the kettle on. Mickey awkwardly manoeuvred around Fiona and sat at a stool near the table, perching uncomfortably on the edge. Fiona stood with her arms crossed taking in their awkward movements, tugging her dressing gown back over her shoulder.

"Want some breakfast". Ian broke the silence, addressing Micky in a nonchalant manner, obviously also disconcerted by their domestic setting.

"What've you got?"

"Bread, but the amount of green on it is discouraging. Maybe cereal"

"Sure"

Ian moved round the kitchen with more ease as he busied himself with their breakfasts, retrieving instant coffee and bowls, soon producing something that resembled a meal. It was impressive. Handing Mickey a bowl and mug he moved to the seat opposite, shovelling his own food into his mouth, trying to ignore the silence that filled the room.

Fiona poured her own coffee that joined them at the table. Ian resisted the feeling of being in an interrogation and attempted to relax his shoulders.

"Thanks for letting me crash". To Ian's surprise Mickey broke the silence.

"That's okay", Fiona replied, sounding cautious as though if she spoke to loudly he would scare and roll away. It made for a ludicrous mental image. "Just try not to get in so late".

She sipped her coffee, averting her eyes hoping that her implication that he might stay again wouldn't freak him out. He just nodded and continued eating. It was another five minutes before the kids began filtering down the stairs, each making their way around the kitchen to prepare their own breakfasts. Carl's was particularly intriguing, as it seemed to consist of cold baked beans, chocolate sauce and sprinkles.

"What's he doing here", He stated bluntly as between forkfuls of his strange concoction.

"I crashed here", Mickey responded, clearly not thrilled with the questioning, even from a kid.

"Like a sleepover"

"Sure, whatever"

"Since when were you and Ian friends?"

Mickey shrugged.

"Also, is it normal for friends to sleep like that, 'caus even though I've never had a sleepover I totally wouldn't do that with my friends, if I had any".

Mickey glared at him, wondering whether they had all caught a glimpse of them sleeping. Fiona grinned at how he was getting grilled by Carl and not her.

"Also you were totally cuddling him. That's so gay"

"You have no idea", Fiona muttered into her coffee, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Mickey shifted uncomfortably, quickly swigging the last mouthful of coffee before dumping his dishes into the sink and making a break for the door.

He was already on the pavement when Ian caught up.

"Thanks"

"What for", Mickey grumbled, not slowing his pace, mind blank from the surreal experience that had left him unarmed.

"Not beating the shit out of my brother", He was grinning, obviously pleased with himself. They walked a block in silence, the morning sun casting a pleasant warmth across their bodies.

"Got to go. When'll I see you?"

"The house is empty today. Dad's got family business and 'the wife' has work". Mickey repeated the snatches of knowledge he had collected in his brief visits to his house.

"Kay. See you there 'round two"

He nodded in response and Ian departed. Unsure of what he would do when he got home, he began to worry what response his extended absences would create. It was another seven hours before the house was free and he would have Ian again. It was a comforting thought, but at the moment he felt too concerned with what reaction his return would create, and whether he would still be in one piece by 2:00pm.


	13. Chapter 13

The walk is short, and passes too quickly. He despised it. He had no clue what he would do or say when he got there. He also had no idea how his family would act around him. It was hard to predict as most of them were so temperamental. It also depended on how much alcohol they had consumed, how much they wished to consume and all other external factors. Either way there was no way for Mickey to predict whether his presence would go unnoticed, of draw unwanted attention resulting possibly in violence. Taking in one last breath from his cigarette he dropped it onto the ground and scraped his heel across it as he headed towards the front door.

Seeing that his father was passed out on the couch he let go of the breath he had been holding. It would be much easier than he had imagined. Heading to his room he tried not to tiptoe, paranoid both of waking his father and being discovered looking so ridiculously cautious. When he got to his room he felt his stomach drop. Seated on his bed was his _wife_. She was looking the same she always did, slightly bedraggled and blissfully unaware of her surroundings. She was painting her toenails a lurid orange that clashed with the green dress she was wearing. He recognized the dress as Mandy's. This meant either one of two unpleasant thoughts. Either Mandy had become friends with her and had allowed her to borrow the dress, or she had stolen the dress and was going to pay the consequences later.

She looked up and saw him, throwing him a smile. He tried not to remember that day, or the feelings of violation that came from the combination of events that day. Her smile, though innocent, seemed disconcerting. She spoke little English, and he relied mostly on her body language and expressions to reflect her messages.

She stood, on her heels to avoid smudging her handiwork. As she took a step towards his he avoided the impulse to take a step back.

"Where you"? She swayed as she spoke, almost childishly. He briefly wondered how she had ended up in her profession. He shrugged and attempted to step around her to grab a towel and underpants. As he tried to pass, she grabbed his arm and attempted to pull him into what he assumed was an embrace. He twisted away much to her confusion and they now stood facing each other.

"What?"

Mickey stared at the ground, not wanting to meet her eyes.

"You know what" he mumbled, not wanting to have this conversation. He still had no clue what he thought of her or whether he could even trust her. There were few people he did.

She gave him another confused look, not getting the message. Making a split second decision he decided he would tell her. He would have to someday anyway, and he was pretty sure she already knew.

"You know the day we met?" He started, not sure how he would say this. "Nothing's changed".

"Fuck you. Tell me plainly". Her eyes had narrowed into a sharp expression.

"I'm not into you. And I'm never going to". It was true, and straightforward without being entirely revealing.

She nodded, looking a little disgruntled as she took a step back. As he moved to leave the room she stopped him again.

"I don't care. You'll be honest. Even if not now". The sincerity of her statements was startling.

He nodded, still facing away from her as he walked to the shower. He kept it short and changes into some relatively clean clothes. When he got out she had left, presumably to an appointment with a client.

Sitting down on the bed he rested his head in his hands, running them through his hair. He curled his hands into fists, nails digging into palms. His eyes filling, only to spill no tears. He lashed out at the pillow, punching it then grasping it and bringing it to his face to stifle a scream.

He wouldn't be able to keep up his facade much longer. She had seen right through him, and was much sharper than he had first suspected. It almost made him feel better knowing that she could be held accountable for a little of their situation. He felt so exposed.

He retried an assortment of foods from the kitchen, moving carefully through the house until his father left a few hours later.

Ian arrived a few minutes after, to be pulled into an unexpected embrace, Mickey burying his head in Ian's shoulder. It was desperate, and slightly pathetic. Ian could feel Mickey shaking a little as he moved to wrap his arms around him. Mickey twisted his head up to meet Ian's gaze, understanding but without pity. Mickey hated pity, and was grateful.

He closed the distance between their faces, kissing him softly as he pushed him back into the door frame. His hands moved to caress his rough cheek, then entangle themselves around his neck as he pulled himself closer. All distance between them felt too much, but at the same time he felt there was so much keeping them apart. It was a strange conflict, that he would ignore even if only for the night. This was how they lived; one night at a time.

They made their way clumsily to Mickey's room, awkwardly crashing into furniture and laughing as they almost tripped in their attempts to not let too much space come between them.

Ian pulled Mickey by the collar into the room, pushing him into the door frame as had previously been done to him. He leaned closer to kiss his cheek, his collar bone and below his ear, enjoying the shivers he received in return, and the feeling of Mickey's stubble rough on his cheek.

They awkwardly slid to the floor in a mockery of so many similar movie scenes, almost tripping attempting not to giggle, but giving in laughing loudly at nothing in particular. Laughing at the absurdity of their situation, crying because it felt inescapable and loving it all the same because there was nothing else to do.


	14. Chapter 14

The click of the front door opening echoed through the mostly empty house, falling heavily on the unsuspecting ears of Ian and Mickey. They had been lying on their backs of the floor of the bedroom, each at varying stages of undress as they gazed carelessly at the patterns of light caused by the sun reflected off an empty beer bottle on the windowsill. It was strange how time seemed to come to a standstill as they listened to each other's inhalations and exhalations, and the sound of a single fly buzz against the window, and the distant tick of a clock.

The click seemed to shatter this all in a manner of seconds breaking them from their daze. Mickey glanced across at Ian, an expression of mixed horror and confusion, obviously as shocked by the disturbance as him. They were trapped in the room, no escapes with footsteps getting louder.

In a moment of panic Mickey rolled towards the nearest hiding spot, clumsily dragging Ian to roll with him across the hard wooden floor. It was a miracle that the noise of their movement alone didn't attract attention. They arrived at the hiding spot out of breath from the seconds of panic, Mickey cautiously closing the door behind them and cramping them into the closed space, repositioning himself so the he could look through the gap in the door.

Neither of them dared to move or make a sound, sure that any awareness of their location would be the death of them. Mickey could see that it was his father, the worst person to have interrupted them. His pulse raced, and heart was beating so loudly he was surprised that his dad didn't discover them.

It felt like ages before his Father moved back through the room from the bathroom, and guessing from the noise he heard, left the house. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaken from the experience. He felt the soft touch of Ian's hand on his shoulder blades, smoothing them to an almost relaxed position. He shuffled awkwardly to be facing Ian, knees brought up to his chin to accommodate them in the enclosed space. Ian awkwardly moved his legs to be on either side of Mickey, also bent to fit into the tiny space.

"Dude, I thought you said no one was here", whispered Ian, obviously still shaken.

"They were. Maybe he just stopped by", Mickey replied, just as clueless as to why they had been interrupted.

"That was too close, man".

"I know".

Their words faded away in the darkness, neither able to see much details of each other as their eyes adjusted to the poor light. Suddenly a sound of soft laughter broke through the silence, growing louder.

"What the fuck Ian? We could have been killed a few minutes ago. What could actually be so fucking funny right now?"

Ian's laughter had grown to loud gasps, hardly able to breath for laughing. He had to speak between bouts of laughter, taking a whole minute to spit out a whole sentence.

"Do… you actually… realise where… we are?"

Mickey just stared back, unamused.

"We are… in the…_closet_"

He broke down laughing again, making a strange wheezing noise as he gasped for breath.

Mickey still stared back, understanding but having absolutely no idea why it was having this effect of Ian.

"We are… hiding from your father… in _the closet_".

Seeing Mickey's lack of amusement just made him laugh even harder, his whole body shaking. He leaned forward, placing a hand on either side of Mickey's face, resting their foreheads together. His panting breaths fell across his cheeks, as a grin broke across his face. Even in the shadows Ian could see the movement of the corners of his mouth curling upwards, and feel it under his palms.

He leant away, resting against the wall, looking to the closet's shadowy celling. Mickey leant towards him and placed a small kiss on his cheek before leaning away.

"It's funny being in a literal one", he breathed. "I mean we've fucked, kissed, loved and lived in the metaphorical one forever, but to be in an actual one just seems fucking hilarious"

Ian was slightly shocked that Mickey even knew what a metaphor was, but could silently agree.

"Your moves back there were impressive", stated Ian, wanting to break the silence. "I mean that quick thinking and rolling us out of danger. If it weren't for your blatant disregard for authority I'd say that you'd make an even better soldier than me".

Mickey chuckled, the though absurd.

"Why, thank you lieutenant, that's what I've always wanted to hear. Now I can fulfil my dreams!" he breathed back in a voice high and girly, laced with sarcasm.

Ian shoved his shoulder.

"I get that now that DADT had been overturned it's all more accepting, but I don't think they would take too kindly to us fucking in the bunks".

Ian received this with more laughter, shaking his head at the thought. Mickey snorted in response, beginning to feel the effects of their position as his legs began to cramp up.

He pushed at the door, freeing himself from their tangled legs as the bright light streamed across their faces. His eyes took a second to readjust to the light glaring in their eyes. He reached back to give Ian a hand to his feet, the other hand freeing a spiderweb from his red hair, only to be shoved away by a grinning Ian.

He laughed and shoved him back into the door as he stumbled away, only to be pulled into an embrace by Ian, pinning his arms to his sides as he planted a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth.

They stumbled into the lounge, each shoving the other, Ian planting kisses on his face before attempting to dart away as he laughed like a maniac.

Suddenly Ian froze, expression turned to one of sheer fear as his hand dropped from where it had been entangled in Mickey's.

Mickey whirled around to see what had caused his sudden change, his own stomach dropping as though on a roller coaster, a cold sweat covering his forehead.

Stood across the room from them was Mickey's father, eyes wide as he took in the sigh of them and mouth hanging open as his face rapidly changed to one of anger and disgust.


	15. Chapter 15

He quickly ran through all the possibilities, struggling to form a game plan in a manner of seconds. Though they were shocked they were in far less of a position of venerability than before. His father had barely moved all the way across the room when they sprang into action. They moved swiftly, Mickey predicting their attacker's every move. In a fluid movement Ian grasped the handle of a frypan lying on the table, and swung without hesitation. It connected with his head, greasy remnants flew from it as the noise it made upon connection echoed through the room.

The man fell to the ground heavily, forming a sweaty and alcohol soaked heap, obviously unconscious. Ian's stance didn't change, alert and ready to respond to the slightest signs of attack. Both boys glanced at each other, slightly unsure about what had occurred. Shook from his daze he bent down to check his father's pulse, glancing up worriedly at Ian. Despite his hatred for his Father, he would rather not have to face murder charges. His life was messed up enough already. He was relieved when he felt a steady pulse, and quickly got up and took a step back, wanting to be as far away from him as possible.

"Fuck", he breathed as he nervously ran a hand through his hair.

"Yep. Fuck". Ian's grip on the pan loosened and it fell to the floor with a dull thud.

"We had to do something but… a fry pan? Seriously?"

"What can I say? I'm a hands-on guy". A wry smile broke across Ian's face.

"Can we keep the innuendo until were not standing over the body of my unconscious father?"

Ian nodded as he attempted to stifle his expression of near-glee.

"So, what're we gonna do?"

"Either we run, which is only temporary, or we stay until he is awake and talk". Mickey's voice was surprisingly even, considering the circumstances, his face hardened into an expression of resignation. Ian nodded in agreement, though slightly unconvinced. It wasn't his decision.

Mickey bent down cautiously, and patted the pocket of his unconscious father before removing a phone from one of them.

"Would it be overkill to tie him up?", muttered Mickey, both jokingly but with a hint of fear that gave away they he wasn't entirely.

Together they dragged the heavy dead weight of his father so that he was propped against one of the couches. Sure that they were now prepared to face him, Mickey gave the face of the unconscious man a short slap, not wanting to cause him much more damage. After a few more they saw his eyelids flutter. Ian retrieved the pan from where it had fell on the floor and raised it threateningly above his shoulder, not sure that the danger had passed now that he was conscious.

He fully opened his eyes and was now staring groggily up at them, confusion and anger clear on his face.

"What the fuck happened?". He looked behind Mickey and saw Ian, wielding the pan. "Why the fuck is that fag here again", he growled as he attempted to stand up only to stumble back to his place propped against the couch. "I'm gonna fucking gonna kill both you fucking..."

Mickey cut him off.

"Fags?"

His father stared stupidly back at him, slight apprehension clouding his anger.

"What's that supposed to achieve, because I'd really like to know, Dad", His voice cracked as he stared somewhere above his father's head, not meeting his eyes. "What do you fucking want from me, huh?". His voice had raised to a yell, as he shouted at his father who began to shrink. He had never seen his son like this, or felt threatened by him before.

"You want to beat me till I'm black and blue and bloody? Want to break each bone and yell so loud I cant hear my own voice?", he practically screamed, eyes filling and face contorted by pain and anger. His father sat, dazed and unsure, mouth hanging open.

Ian span around and kicked the coffee table, causing it to topple and crash into the chair next to the sofa.

He regained some of his composure before starting again, a complete shift in his voice and body language.

"You want to kill Ian?". His voice was low and even, as he finally brought his eyes to meet those of his father, unblinking and fearless. "You can do all of that. You can do anything you want. You can blackmail me into a pseudo-marriage, make me fuck women and play happy heteros... you can do whatever the fuck you want, but I will still be your fag of a son."

His enraged father stared up at him, still too unsteady to make any action against them. He attempted to stand, but was stopped by Mickey's foot to his stomach, winding him, and sending him back to his place on the floor. He curled around the area of impact, shrunk into himself. A pathetic mirror of his true weak and stupid self.

Turning away Mickey began to make his way to the front door.

"C'mon".

Ian followed, a little dazed himself and surprisingly unconcerned as they turned their backs on the man who had just been threatening them. He felt so light, as though floating st they departed.

As they reached the door Mickey turned, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. He glared across the room at his father, now looking on to them from his place across the room. Mickey wrapped one or his arms around Ian's neck as he drew him in. He turned from his father and kissed Ian. Right there, in front of his father. It was passionate and overt, a show simply for his onlooking father. Mickey even snaked one of his hands down to Ian's ass, causing him to jump slightly.

Mickey broke away, a smirk on his face as he glanced to his father one last time before they departed, slamming the door behind them.


	16. Chapter 16

When they left the house it felt as if the air was buzzing. Everything seemed too bright and the noise of cars seemed to roar in Mickey's ears. The hair on his arms stood on end as his arms shook. They walked rapidly, silence between them thick enough to be cut by a knife.

_Knives_, thought Mickey, _would possibly be my father's choice of weapon when he hunts me down and kills me. Slow and messy. _

His stomach churned anxiously as he thought of all the possible methods of escape. He didn't have money for long distance travel, and even then there was the possibility that his father would track him down.

The tentative brush of Ian's hand on his shoulder made him jump. He briefly turned back, nodded, then continued to walk at a faster pace, resisting the urge to run. Though it was obvious that his composure had shattered he wanted to look at least a little like himself. It was strange to feel fearful and nervous. For a person dedicated to the fine art of suppression the past few days had been a rollercoaster ride.

Ian caught up to him in a few seconds, grasping his wrist and pulling him to a halt. He then turned wordlessly down a street to their left. Mickey followed unsure, but desperately wanting to escape.

They walked another kilometre in silence before arriving at a derelict children's playground. It was shadowy in the minimal light of the sun gradually sinking below the horizon. It was empty, and the once brightly coloured play equipment was now faded by exposure.

Mickey made his way to the swing and sunk onto the seat. It made a tire creaking noise under his weight, but felt sturdy enough. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the chain of the swing, exhaling a shaky breath. The cool breeze across his face was soothing, lightly ruffling his hair.

When he opened his eyes Ian was sitting cross legged on the ground in front of him, studying him. He picked up a piece of tanbark and threw it lightly at him playfully.

"Why'd you do that?", Ian asked, though more of a statement than question.

He shrugged in response, still slightly unsure himself. It had been stupid, dangerous and slightly badass. So really it wasn't that far out of his normal areas of expertise, but it had drained him entirely.

"Do you regret it?" Ian's voice was hollow, already expecting the answer of an exasperated 'yes'.

To his own surprise Mickey slowly shook his head. Though it was possibly one of the most idiotic things he had done his entire life, he had no regrets. It was strange how peaceful he felt, even though the possibility of being butchered by his father loomed over his head. He flicked his eyes towards Ian's, to be met with a worried and sincere expression.

Suddenly he reached forwards and pulled Mickey's face towards his, and planted a kiss on his forehead, before releasing him. Ian beamed at him, and he just stared back confused.

"You realise were totally dead, right?"

"Yeah, but I'll enjoy the moment in denial of our imminent death", he said as he continued beaming, leaning back on his elbows as support on the tanbark. That couldn't be comfortable, but his expression remained ridiculously bright.

"So, what'll we do to celebrate my recent outing, or our last few days on earth?", mused Mickey, trying to pass off his fear whimsically, and partially failing.

"Well, I could give you a blow-job, but I don't think you're that out yet, plus you're not into PDA and it's a bit creepy to be doing in a public playground", he laughed.

Mickey shoved his shoulder before getting up. The swing creaked as he walked away, back to the main road.

"Where to now", called Ian

"Somewhere less public"

So they walked, back along the main roads, and towards Ian's house. Though they knew the danger had not passed they both felt more relaxed. It was as though a weight had temporarily been lifted from their shoulders, and they were now light with freedom. The intensity of the world around them had passed, and they now walked below the streetlights without feeling slightly secretive. It was dangerous in their area, but also slightly thrilling. It was certain to pass but for the moment they would enjoy it.

Ian cautiously brushed his hand against Mickey's, enjoying the simple warmth of the gesture, and the fact that he did not move to pull away. He had never thought anything like this could possibly happen to him. That he would ever feel this for somebody who reciprocated would have made him laugh a week ago. He felt as though this couldn't possibly be reality, because he had never felt this at home. It was strange because they were also under the threat of his father, but he had never felt more safe.


	17. Chapter 17

The sun filtering through the windows woke Mickey up first, glaring onto his closed eyelids. Once again he was unsure of where he was, but was less startled when he realised he was back at the Gallagher's. Cautiously he moved from the couch, attempting not to make too much noise so as not to wake Ian who was sleeping on the floor, with his head supported by a pillow. Making his way to the kitchen, he recalled the night before. They arrived there at some time as early as 9:00pm, various members of the family still milling around but taking little notice of them. It was such a strange contrast to his own house.

He made it to the kitchen, where he was able to get the time from the microwave clock. It was 9:30am now, which meant the kids would have left. He moved to fill and turn on the kettle to make some coffee, the simple tasks and actions soothing and mindless.

"Getting domestic, are we?"

The voice from behind him startled him, but he turned around slowly with disinterest. Fiona was leaning against the doorframe into the kitchen, still in pyjamas. He rolled his eyes, but wanted to be civil.

"Caffeine is one of the essential food groups. Want some?"

She nodded before moving to sit at the kitchen table. It was unusual for him to be so placid, but it had become much easier for him around the Gallaghers recently. They grew on him, and all their irritations and quirks became somehow endearing.

He stood leaning against the bench waiting for the kettle to boil, looking around the room at he attempted to avoid eye contact with Fiona, who was now observing him. Her eyes seemed like searchlights that nothing could escape from, and it was making him uncomfortable. He shifted his weigh from one foot to the other and crossed his arms across his chest.

The whistle of the kettle interrupted the silence, and he turned to continue the task, pouring the water into the mugs with heaped spoons of instant coffee. He placed one mug on the table in front of her before leaning back against the bench.

"Okay, Milkovich, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

She looked slightly bemused, but also cautious as she grinned slightly. He shrugged in response, wondering whether it would matter if he told her. There wasn't much worse that could happen to him anyway that his imminent death at the hands of his father.

"Just about to be murdered brutally by my father. No big deal", he smirked at her, somewhat maniacally as he remained casual. "Possibly Ian too".

"Aren't you always though?" She stated, looking concerned but not having lost control yet. "What is it this time though? And why is my brother involved".

He could tell that she was prepared to leap to protect her brother, but was so used to dealing with various threats of life or financially that she had developed an immunity.

"Uh… yeah, I suppose he's never been the safest person to get along with, but this time it might be a little serious"

She nodded, signalling him to continue, but her eyes flashed dangerously, warning him that if he had endangered her brother she would kill him and if he didn't get to the point she would assume he had.

"Well… we got caught… again". He said each phrase slowly between pauses, trying to get it out.

Her eyes widened with understanding as she placed the mug she had been sitting from down.

"Shit"

"Yeah, shit".

"Wait, did you say _again_".

He nodded, looking down into his coffee mug, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"So he caught you before, and threatened you?"

He nodded again, still not lifting his eyes.

"I get that he's a psychopathic homophobic abusive asshole, but what makes him more likely to kill you this time than last time?"

He looked up, not wanting to repeat what had happened to her, but deciding against keeping it to himself.

"I, or we knocked him out and I kind of confronted him"

She once again looked shocked.

"Why the fuck would you do something so fucking stupid?"

He shrugged, still wondering himself.

"I'm kind of impressed though." A grin had brightened her face already, so sure that death threats were insignificant or could be dealt with. "But why are you being so unusual then. Shouldn't you be really mad, or running away, not in my kitchen making coffee".

He shrugged once again. "Not much else to do"

She finished off her coffee, before moving to leave stopping at the door before going to get ready.

"You can stay here and hide out, or leave to find somewhere safer. Don't do anything stupid like go outside or other public places", she smiled at him softly before departing.

It was nice knowing that she didn't mind that he was here. It was also strange for him to acknowledge the fact that he cared about other people's comfort. It had been a strange few days, or weeks all together. Actually it would be fair to say that his whole life hadn't exactly been normal.

He turned the kettle back on, and got out another mug to make Ian a coffee before waking him. _Huh_, he mused, _I really am being domestic._

The strangest thing by far about that was the fact that _he didn't actually mind that much. _He supposed this is what it must have been like that time Mandy and Lip had been briefly happy together.

He took the fresh coffee to the lounge room where Ian was still sleeping surprisingly peacefully on the floor, and placed it on the small table beside the couch. He gently nudged Ian with his foot until he stirred, then nodded to the mug when he opened his eyes.

Ian sat up, groggily rubbing his eyes before leaning to grab the prepared coffee. He sat cross-legged facing Mickey, much like he had last night at the playground. He stared pensively at his coffee, before glancing up at Mickey.

"What's wrong with you?"


End file.
